Taken
by ArtistHeart
Summary: Neal is kidnapped and forced into forging art for another conman. When he refuses to help his kidnapper take Peter down, he pays the price in blood. Will Peter get to Neal in time to save his life? Rated T for violence; I never use sexual themes in my writing.
1. Chapter 1: Followed

This is my second-ever fan fiction. I hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1: Followed

Neal rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his paint stained hands and glanced over at the window. Bright streams of orange and pink sunlight seeped through the small, accidental holes in the curtains. He had lost track of time; it was morning. He stood up and stretched his stiff shoulders and legs. Yawning, he stepped back and took a look at the finished product. It was beautiful. His first re-creation of Van Gough's "Starry Night". He felt as though it related to him in a personal way. The dark abyss of night behind splashes of yellow, blue, and orange. It inspired him. No matter how dark his life got, bright hues of creativity and light would remain with him as long as he kept his passion for art alive. A smile curved over his face. This is what he was born to do.

He heard a knock at the door, and glanced over at the clock; 6:30am. Who in the world was knocking at this hour? "Coming!" He yelled. He pulled on a white tank top and walked briskly to the door. He opened it only to find Mozzie staring at him. "What are you doing here so early Mozz?" He was confused.

Mozzie let himself in and brushed Neal's shoulder as he passed. "I think the better question is, what did you do to have an undercover Fed waiting for you outside the house?"

Neal closed the door and glanced over at Mozzie. "What? I didn't do anything. Who was it?"

"I don't know Neal, I've never seen him before. You must've done something pretty dumb though. He's huge! And he took off right when I got here." Mossy smirked, helping himself to a glass of wine.

"Seriously Moz?" Neal grabbed the glass out of his little friend's hand before he could pour the drink. "It's not even 7:00. What's wrong with you?"

Mozzie reluctantly gave up the glass. "I'm just stressed out. I don't like the feeling of being watched."

"Well I don't like the feeling of paying to replace empty wine bottles that I never got to drink from." Neal took a seat across from Mozzie at the table and searched his mind for anyone he knew from the office that could fit Mozzie's description. Honestly, he couldn't think of one person large enough to be described as "huge". _I guess that's why they all carry guns,_ He thought. _Wait…Peter wouldn't send someone to watch me if they've never worked with me before. He knows better than that. He must not be a fed after all…_ "Mozz, I'm being followed." Neal said, worry in his voice.

"Yeah Neal, we've already been through this part." Mozzy looked at his friend with sarcastic eyes, adjusting his glasses with an index finger.

"No, Moz." Neal said, annoyed. "Not by a fed; by someone else!"

The remainder of the morning consisted of the two conmen attempting to pinpoint exactly who would have a reason to follow Neal. Their minds remained blank canvases, and they gave up just in time for Neal to prepare for work that day.

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Neal strode into the office with his usual charming smile and snazzy suit. He tipped off his hat and placed it on his desk as Peter walked toward him.

"Morning, Neal. Coffee's ready." Peter stopped. Neal had a strange look about him today. He had seen this look on Neal's face before. Something wasn't right. "You okay? What's going on?"

"Wow Peter, you're getting pretty good at reading me. Guess I'm gonna have to switch my facial expressions on you again." Peter raised his eyebrows. Picking up on the fact that he wasn't in the mood to be playing games, he decided to cut right to the chase. "I'm being followed. I don't know who he is or what he's trying to get at, but he knows where I live. He was sitting outside of June's house this morning." Neal walked over to the break area and poured himself a cup of coffee. Peter followed.

"Well, until you get solid proof, there really isn't anything I can do to help. I'll get you a camera to plant outside the house tonight. Deal?" Peter smiled as Neal nodded thankfully. "Nobody follows my CI but me."

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Neal slowly climbed the stairs toward his room. He was so tired. The day had gone longer than expected, and he couldn't wait to sleep. He put the key in his door, only to find that it was unlocked already. He cautiously turned the knob and pushed the door open. _Come on Mozz. The one time you forget to lock the door is the day I find out someone's following me_. _You must really want that bottle of wine._ He took one step into his room, felt a powerful thump on the back of his head, and everything went black.

 **~~I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Let me know how you like it, and if you would like me to continue! PLEASE REVIEW it is very important to me. Thanks for reading!~~**


	2. Chapter 2: Forgery

Chapter 2: Forgery

Neal opened his eyes. He couldn't see anything. Panicked, he moved his head up off of the hard floor and proceeded to let it drop immediately back down again. He had a splitting headache. He lifted a shaky hand to the back of his head and ran his fingers through wet hair. He couldn't tell if it was blood or sweat covering his hands. He slowly and painfully pulled himself into a sitting position. Normally, the slick conman wouldn't be scared in this type of situation. He would get his bearings, form a plan, and execute. The only difference this time was that he couldn't assess the situation. He was blind. _Where am I? What happened…Why can't I see anything? Oh gosh, why can't I see anything._ He began to panic, and violently rubbed at his eyes in hopes that the next time he opened them he would be able to see. Repeatedly trying and failing miserably to regain his sight, he began to lose control of his thoughts. He sucked in deep breaths of air, unable to get enough to satisfy the burning sensation in his lungs. Sharp pains broke out across his chest and his deep breaths turned into shallow ones. He leaned his trembling shoulders up against a cold wall, gathered his knees up to his heaving chest, and wrapped his arms tightly around them. _I sure hope Peter is looking for me right now._ He stared into the pitch-black darkness until the pain in his head forced him to lay down and sleep.

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Peter was frantic. Though Jones and Diana believed that Neal had decided to run, Peter knew that he had been kidnapped. Neal telling Peter he was being followed and then disappearing the same night was no coincidence, and Peter knew it. He couldn't help but blame himself. If he had spent the day searching and investigating Neal's stalker rather than working on the petty, time consuming case that they had worked on instead, maybe Neal wouldn't be missing right now.

"Tell me again what he looked like." Peter looked at Mozzie, and then turned his eyes back to Neal's painting. His eyes scanned over the various colors and patterns. He hadn't ever gotten to see Neal's recreational paintings; he only ever saw the ones intended for cases. His work was almost more beautiful like this, in a way. It wasn't forced. It was for pleasure. Neal was a man of many talents, and Peter's jealousy tended to creep up on him from time to time.

"Suit, I've already told you. You really need to work on your listening skills." Mozzie glanced back at Peter, who didn't look the slightest bit amused. Reluctantly, he proceeded to re-state the follower's description. "He was very muscular, I'd say about 6'3 or 6'4. You wouldn't wanna mess with him. He had light hair and I'd say he was in his early to mid 40's." Mozzie sank down into a dining room chair, gulping down the remaining contents of his third glass of wine. He was worried about Neal.

Peter nodded in reply, ripped his eyes away from the painting and walked over to the door frame. He followed the pathway into the room and squatted down to get a closer look at the floor. He spotted a red droplet next to the door mat and realized it must be blood. "Hey, I think this is where Neal was taken! Looks like he didn't get the better end of the deal."

Back at the office, Peter had forensics run DNA tests, and the blood was confirmed as Neal's. Peter vowed to himself that he wouldn't rest until Neal was found. He _would_ find his partner, no matter the cost.

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Neal awoke with a start. A banging sound had awakened him. He opened his swollen eyes and, once again, saw nothing but darkness. He attempted at a deep breath, and inched as far away as he could from the banging sound. Suddenly, the banging stopped and a blinding light filled the room. Neal almost let out a cry of relief as his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw a man walk into the room. He had never been blind to begin with; the room had just been dark. The joy of receiving his sight was short-lived, however, as the man stepped closer.

"Hello, Neal." The man's voice was so deep that it shook Neal to the core. He was tall, muscular, and most definitely the same person Mozzie had described a few days prior.

Neal squinted upward in attempts of getting a better look at him. "How do you know my name?" He inquired.

"Oh, I know a lot more about you than just your name, Caffrey. I've been following you for weeks. You're such an intelligent man, I thought you were gonna catch on much sooner than you did." The man chuckled to himself. "I saw your painting, by the way. Very nice."

"What do you want with me?" Neal was abrupt. He slowly rose to his feet. From a standing position, his eyes rested level at the man's collarbone. _That's encouraging._ Neal thought sarcastically to himself.

"You're gonna make me rich, Caffrey." He smiled. "You are going to forge a series of sculptures and paintings for me, and I am going to escape this god-forsaken town with millions of dollars."

Neal scoffed. "And if I refuse?"

"I've been watching your little bald friend…Mozzie, is it? I wouldn't want to see him get hurt just because you refused to do some arts and crafts." The man looked into Neal's eyes, staring him down.

Neal stared back. "I guess we have a deal, then."

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 **~REVIEWS PLEASE thanks everyone for reading. Let me know if you want more! Your encouragement will keep me motivated!~**


	3. Chapter 3: Ultimatum

Chapter 3: Ultimatum

Neal took a deep breath, and clenched the paintbrush tightly between his fingers. His hand was trembling. He took a moment to steady himself, and then quickly resumed his work. It had been three weeks since he had been captured. The days were beginning to blend together in his mind. The only reason he knew it had been three weeks was because he was keeping track of the days on his wall with the paintbrush. It amused him to think that this was the very same thing he had done when he was in prison. He stood up to stretch. His clothing was beginning to loosen, and he was becoming weaker every day. Despite the fact that his kidnapper fed him well, Neal could hardly bring himself to eat. The tiny little windowless room was becoming too much for him. It was making him nervous. It reminded him of prison, and those memories were far from fond. He needed to get out, and he needed to do it fast.

Neal had contemplated every plan of escape, and finally decided on the one he thought to be the most promising. So far, he hadn't gotten caught. He just hoped it was working out. In every single forgery he preformed for his nameless kidnapper, Neal had sneaked in a signature. He made the signatures so subtle and intricate, that they would basically be impossible to find within the vastness of the forgeries. Even to the trained eye of a forger, his initials would be extremely difficult to find. Neal was signing in hopes that Peter and Mozzie would find his name and trace the paintings back to his captor. It was a long shot, but it was all he had. All he could do for the moment was wait.

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Peter sighed and sat up, pulling the covers off of himself. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned into a sitting position over the edge of the bed. Running his hands through his hair, he let out a long yawn. He was never gonna get any sleep until he knew that Neal was okay. He looked at the clock; 5:15am. It was almost time to wake up for work anyway. Elizabeth stirred next to him. "Hon?" Her voice was thick with sleepiness. "You okay?"

Peter put an affectionate hand on his wife's back and smiled. "It's okay El, go back to sleep."

Stubbornly, she sat up next to him. "Not until you tell me why you can't."

Peter looked at the floor. He waited a while before speaking. "I'm worried about Neal. He's been gone for three weeks. I don't even know if he's still alive. I know that's a horrible thought, but it's true. I just…" He paused, unable to gather his thoughts and words correctly. "This case I'm working on, I can't focus because all I can think about is how insignificant it is in comparison to finding Neal."

El looked at her husband sympathetically and wrapped an arm around him. "Peter, I know you've been looking for weeks. And I know that you have teams still looking. But you can't just ignore your job. There are other people out there in need of your help. Neal is smart. I'm sure he has a plan in motion as we speak."

Peter stood up suddenly. _That's it!_ Elizabeth looked up at him in confusion. "Hon, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong El, you just helped me realize something! Neal _is_ smart enough to have a plan in motion! The case I've been working on…Someone has discovered works of art that have been lost for centuries, and they're selling them one after the other. Something like this always raises suspicion, so naturally we brought in an art expert to go undercover and examine the artwork to see if any of it was forged. The artwork started showing up around the same time that Neal disappeared." Peter quickly pulled on a suit and kissed his wife. "I think it's time we enlisted a different expert for the job." Peter smiled. He knew just who to call.

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Mozzie's eyes scanned over the painting. Rembrandt van Rijn's _Storm of the Sea of Galilee_. It had been missing since 1990, and the recovery prize was $5 million. His eyes studied the blueish-tan hues, and he lifted a finger to touch the colors on the ship.

"Hey! Don't touch that, Mr. Winters." Mozzie looked up at the fence-man and then back at the painting.

"Sorry, sir. It's just so beautiful." Mozzie smiled in amusement.

The man looked at him with suspicion in his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be an expert, not a child in a toy store."

"Excuse me? I guess I could just declare this painting a forgery and get on with my day." Mozzie started to walk away, and stopped when the man blurted out an apology. "Okay then. Please allow me to work in peace." Mozzie stared as the man silently walked out of the room.

"Okay Suit," Mozzie lifted the watch to his mouth as he spoke. He could finally talk to Peter now that he was alone in the room. "I'm not seeing anything yet. The paint is authentic; it looks aged enough to verify the date. The paint lines are immaculate."

Peter replied from the van, "It either sounds like it must be real, or something that only Neal could forge. Keep looking."

Mozzie's eyes scanned even more thoroughly this time, and they landed on the tip of the flag flying at the top of this ship. It looked like something was written in between the wrinkles in the fabric. He squinted and looked closer. After a few moments of silent studying, he finally made out the letters: N.C.

"Peter…" Mozzie let out a sigh of relief. "I think we just found Neal."

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Neal woke up from his slumber to the large door opening and filling the dark room with blinding light. He sat up sleepily. _Seriously? I just went to sleep. The stupid sculpture can wait. He's not gonna get anything good out of me when I'm this tired._ To his surprise, the large conman slowly walked up to him, and knocked his strong fist swiftly across Neal's jawbone. Startled, Neal shot out of the bed and pressed himself into the corner of the room. His kidnapper followed, and buried his fist into Neal's abdomen with an excruciating amount of force. Neal doubled over in pain and attempted to push past him, but failed miserably. He was much to small compared to his opponent, and fighting back was seemingly pointless. "What are you doing?" Neal managed through gritted teeth as he endured yet another forceful punch to the ribs.

"You just couldn't play by rules, could you?" His deep voice shook Neal to the core. "I knew it was too good to be true, your cooperation that is. You've been sending little messages to your friends, and they've caught on. You must feel very clever! You've just earned yourself one final assignment."

Neal stared up at him with utter disgust. His ribs ached, but he pushed past the pain and stood to his feet again. "And what might that be?"

The large man chuckled. "You are going to forge a document that will put your FBI friend behind bars." Neal's eyes widened, and the man smiled. "You're going to create a document confirming the shipment of stolen artwork across the country. Peter's signature will be at the bottom. Once the police get ahold of it Peter will be locked away in prision, and I'll have the chance collect the rest of my money and flee the country."

Neal glared at him. Anger consumed his thoughts and spilled over into his voice. "What makes you think that I would ever agree to this?"

The man smiled. "I thought you'd say that." He snapped his fingers and two large men whom Neal had never seen before entered the room. They grabbed both of Neal's arms and held him tightly against the wall, despite his struggle. His kidnapper reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a long, sharp-looking knife. "Looks like I'll just have to force you into this decision."

Neal's heart slammed against his chest. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He eyed the knife, and stared at his own reflection stretched across the blade. "You can do whatever you want to me, but I will _never_ betray Peter." His voice was strong and confident, despite the panic welling up inside of his chest.

His kidnapper nodded, and one of the men holding Neal's arm ripped his button-up shirt open. Bruises were already forming around his ribs from the previous punches. He watched as the knife grew dangerously close to him. "So you're really gonna torture me over a bunch of art forgeries?" He inquired.

The man smiled. "Of course not…I'm going to torture you over sixty million dollars."

He placed the tip of the knife against Neal's belly.

Silence. Terror. Pain. Blood. Screams. Agony. Silence.

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 **~Thank you for reading. Please leave reviews and let me know if you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you!~**


	4. Chapter 4: Pain

Chapter 4: Pain

Peter and Mozzie spent the next few days gathering information on the seller of the artwork and finally traced it back to Neal's kidnapper. They found out where they were keeping him and Peter gathered a team to raid the building. He set up a meeting to brief them on their specific duties.

Diana was the first to speak up. "Boss, I'm glad we know where Neal is, but all we have to go on is a few scribbled lines that Mozzie found in a painting. We don't have enough evidence for a warrant to raid an entire building."

"Well then what do you suggest we do?" Peter's voice was stern and loud. "Just sit around and let Neal rot in there? I know I've always been one to stick to the books, but Neal's life depends on us. Who knows how they're treating him."

"I'm sorry Peter, but Diana's right," Jones chimed in. "We don't have enough to go on. We need to investigate and find more hard evidence against this guy so we can take him down the right way. Neal has survived this long; I think he can make it a few more days."

Peter knew they were right, but his concern for Neal made his head spin. He had to do something. Peter and the team spent the next few days tirelessly attempting to uncover more evidence to prove that Neal had forged the artwork. Though Mozzie said he saw initials on the painting, it was hard for any of the other agents to come to the same conclusion. It seemed like a lost cause, and Peter couldn't take it any longer.

After a particularly hopeless day of searching, Peter decided to take things into his own hands. He was going to break into the building and get his friend out. He was going to rescue Neal. He was convinced that the evidence was never going to be good enough to receive a warrant, and something inside of Peter told him that Neal didn't have much time left. He grabbed his gun and keys, and drove over to the place where Neal was being kept. He stared at the back door of the building and grabbed the lock-picking set he found in Neal's apartment. He took in a deep breath or muggy air. This was it. _Do or die, Burke. Do or die._

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Neal opened one of his eyes halfway. The other one seemed to be swollen shut. He let out a long and hopeless moan as pain engulfed his entire body and wrapped around his mind. He shook violently from fever, and fell unconscious once again into a sleep laced with hellish nightmares. The pain he was experiencing in real life traveled over into his feverish dreams and gripped his subconscious with a hopelessness so strong that he wanted to die. And maybe he would.

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Peter wiped the sweat from his forehead as he began to pick the lock. _I really should have paid more attention when Neal used this kit._ After a few tries, he finally succeeded in getting the door open and quietly pushed his way inside. He pointed his gun aimlessly into the darkness. He assumed there was someone standing guard, but secretly hoped that everyone was sleeping or that Neal was alone in the building. Unfortunately, his hopes were short-lived. As he turned a corner and stepped out into a long hallway, Neal's kidnapper grabbed Peter by the throat and slammed him against the wall, knocking the gun clean out of his hands.

"You know, this is actually kind of perfect!" He said with a sarcastic laugh. "Agent Peter Burke…I was going to have you thrown into jail, but starting tonight, you can just live in mine. You'll be joining your friend in his cell. I'll even throw in a month's worth of free rent." He laughed again as he released Peter's throat. A terrifying smile stretched across his face.

Peter doubled over, gasping for air as he cursed at the large conman with a raspy voice. His phone and gun were confiscated as the conman's two body guards took Peter by both arms and threw him into the room with Neal. Surprisingly, there was now some light in the room, and although it was flickering, it was better than complete darkness. Peter scanned the room and lunged himself forward toward the lump of flesh that was resting in the corner of the room. "Neal!"

Peter sunk to his knees beside his friend. _Oh my gosh, please be alive Neal._ He reached out a shaking hand and pressed two fingers against Neal's neck. He felt nothing. _No. Neal, come on. Don't do this to me, please. Come on._ Finally he picked up on a faint pulse traveling through Neal's neck. Peter let out a gasp of relief. It was weak, but it was there. Neal's body was radiating with an intense heat, and he was trembling violently. Sweat dripped down his forehead and soaked his neck and chest. His left eye was badly swollen and his cheekbone was busted open. His shirt was ripped open revealing a heavily bruised and bloodied abdomen. Peter cupped the back of Neal's neck and used his other hand to press against his chest. Every single one of his ribs felt broken, and a series of long cuts laced over Neal's belly. He was laying in a pool of his own blood, and his stomach was bright red and swollen around the punctured areas. This infection was surely causing his fever. Neal whimpered and let out a soft cry of agony, and Peter relinquished his touch from Neal's aching ribs.

"Neal." Peter inched closer, and brushed back sweaty locks of hair from Neal's burning forehead. "Neal can you hear me?"

"Where am I?" His eyes shot open and revealed a frantic look of terror. He stared off into the distance as if he was looking past reality. "Please, no! Please don't hurt me. Leave me alone. Don't touch me! Please, no…no!" Neal's chest heaved and his shoulders shook violently as he began to cry. The pain in his abdomen and chest were too much to bear. He wanted to die. _Please, just kill me._

"Neal, its me! It's Peter!" Peter moved Neal's face to look him in the eyes. "Neal, look at me. I'm not going to hurt you."

Neal snapped out of his feverish fit and finally realized it was Peter. He reached out and grasped Peter's shirt with both hands. "Help me, Peter. Please help me. Help me-" he let out another desperate cry of agony as a sharp pain shot though his abdomen and took over all of his senses. He sucked in a deep breath of air before breaking into a violent fit of coughing. He turned over onto his side facing Peter and gripped his stomach with both arms, hoping to cease the pain burning within him.

"Shhhh, its okay. I'm right here, you're okay." Peter placed a comforting hand against Neal's back in hopes to calm him down.. He needed to get Neal out of here. He didn't have much time left. Neal sucked in desperate gulps of air and slowly curled up into a ball. Tears rolled down his dirty cheeks and dripped onto the ground forming a small puddle. Peter rubbed Neal's back and spoke softly to him, "Neal, calm down. Take deep breaths. I'm gonna get you out of here, okay? I'm not gonna let anyone else touch you." _Diana and Jones will know something is wrong tomorrow when I don't come into work. They will be here. They will get us out. Gosh, I hope Neal will last that long. It's up to me to keep him alive._

Peter slowly eased Neal onto his back and lifted his legs up to keep him from going into shock, although he was pretty sure he was too late for that. He made a pillow out of his coat and placed in underneath Neal's head, mopping up the sweat from Neal's brow with the corner of his undershirt. Neal's fever seemed to be spiking higher, and his hallucinations were getting worse. He was shaking uncontrollably, and every few minutes a wave of pain would hit him and he would scream into the darkness. Peter felt completely and utterly helpless.

The rest of the night consisted of Peter consoling his suffering friend through bouts of agonizing pain and terrifying nightmares. All he had left to do now was wait.

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 **~Thank you all so much for the reviews. Let me know how you like this chapter! Your comments fuel my motivational fire!~**


	5. Chapter 5: Lost and Found

Chapter 5: Lost and Found

Peter woke up from his restless slumber to silence. Either it was a good thing, or a very bad thing. "Neal?" Peter gently touched his friend's cheek with one hand, and shook his shoulder with the other. "Neal, wake up buddy. Come on."

Neal stirred and lifted his hand to Peter's wrist. "Peter?"

"Attaboy," Peter smiled. He looked at Neal. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, with deep blue bags forming underneath. Despite already knowing the answer, he asked a pressing question. "You hanging in there?"

Neal coughed and sucked in a deep gulp of air. He winced and closed his eyes tightly as he attempted to sit up. That wasn't going to happen. Peter slowly eased his back to the floor. "Peter, I…" He paused. He placed a trembling hand on his stomach just below the swollen knife wounds. Fresh tears slid down his cheeks and his grip around Peter's wrist tightened. His shoulders shook violently. "I'm not gonna make it out."

Peter's expression changed, eyes widening in worry. "Don't talk like that Neal. You've made it this long, and they're gonna be here to get us any minute now. Just stay with me a little longer!"

Neal looked up into Peter's eyes. The father he never had, the brother who always had his back, the friend he trusted more than anyone else. "Thank you, Peter. You've done more for me than you'll ever know." Neal winced again, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his breath shortened.

Peter's eyes filled with tears. "Neal, you're gonna be okay. I promise."

Neal smiled, and slowly dosed off into a realm of blissful unconsciousness, his hand dropping to the ground from Peter's wrist. "Neal?" Peter shook him with both hands now, trying desperately to awake him from his slumber. "Neal, wake up. Neal? Please…" Peter wrapped his shaking arms around his friend, one hand on his shoulder blades and the other cupping the back of his head. He slowly gathered Neal up to himself in a gentle embrace and sobbed, tears dripping into Neal's hair. "Please hold on just a little longer. Just a little longer."

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Diana and Jones took Peter's sudden disappearance as a call to immediate action. Peter was right, they didn't have any time to waste. It's not that they hadn't believed that Neal was taken, but now they had enough to go off of in order to take the kidnapper down; Peter had cleverly left a note saying where he was going, and that was enough for a search warrant. The entire team of FBI agents swarmed around the building, armed and ready to take back their two greatest assets. Jones locked his eyes with Diana's, gave a quick nod, and the entire team swiftly swarmed into he building.

There were about seven men in the building, and they all surrendered without question as the FBI's loaded guns pointed in their direction. Neal and Peter's kidnapper was among the seven, and it took two agents to get him into handcuffs. He swore and shot nasty insults at Jones as he was led away towards the vehicles. Diana and Jones looked around and searched every room in the building for their missing friends and finally found the dark musty room they had been confined in.

The opened the door and found Neal wrapped up in Peter's arms. Peter looked up, relief washing over his tear-stained face. "He's alive, just barely."

"Ambulance is on the way." With Diana's words came the glorious sound of Ambulance sirens. Everything was going to be okay. It had to be.

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Neal slowly opened his eyes. It was a difficult task, considering the fact that it felt as if they had been glued shut with cement. With his newfound consciousness came pain. His stomach felt as if it was on fire. What the heck had happened to him? He couldn't remember anything. All he knew in this moment was pain. A sense of relief seemed to be locked down somewhere inside of him, however. He couldn't for the life of him even begin to figure out why. Then, he heard Peter's voice.

"Good morning sleeping beauty. Rough night?" Peter stood up and walked over to the hospital bed. He slowly sank into the chair on Neal's right side and looked at his dear friend.

Neal attempted to sit up and winced, clutching his stomach. He let out a puff of air. "What happened to me?" Before Peter could answer, the memories flooded back to him like a tidal wave. He remembered everything. The kidnapping, the paintings, the torture, and Peter. Peter saved him. "Peter, I…" Words eluded him. He just looked at Peter, tears of gratitude filling his eyes.

"You're welcome." Peter smiled. "But Neal, I should be the one thanking you. The pain you went through, all to protect me. I could never ask for a better friend."

"Well, you know." Neal shrugged and smiled. "Without you, I wouldn't be the man I am today. I owed it to you."

Peter looked at the ground. They sat in silence. Finally Peter spoke, "Well, before it gets all misty in here…I have something for you."

Neal watched curiously as Peter turned around and grabbed something that had been stashed behind the chair. To Neal's surprise, Peter placed a canvas and painting tools in front of him. "What's this Peter? Are you going to hold me for ransom until I paint you something?" He smirked.

"That's not funny, Neal." Peter said, halfway hiding a smile. "This should keep you busy for the next week or so. After all, you'll be out of commission for a while."

"Thank you Peter…" Neal took the paintbrush in his hand and smiled. "For everything." As Neal got his supplies situated, his mind flashed over the past few months of his life. Working with Peter, creating beautiful art, having an assortment of "adventures," and living his life to the fullest. He looked out the window, dipped his brush into the color, and placed it against the is what he was born to do.

 **~I am so sorry about the delay everyone! I have been busy with school. The last few paragraphs of this story are a super cheesy…I kind of rushed through it so I could finally post the ending for you guys. I hope you enjoyed the story!~**


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